Sugar Me
by crimson nightmare
Summary: You never know, really, but you know, really. Modern Fantasy AU. Kakashi x Gaara x Kakashi, YAOI
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Don't sue.  
**Summary:** AU. You never know, really, but you know, really. Kakashi x Gaara x Kakashi, YAOI.  
**Warning:** YAOI obviously, male on male if you need it spelled out for you, implied sexual content. Weirdness. Grammar mistakes.**  
Author's Notes:** I'm posting a completely new, written-on-a-whim fic. I'm a bitch that way. If anyone's familiar with classical Freudian therapy style, I'm attempting (miserably) at free association technique in this alternate universe, where assassins and magicians must take the bus to get back home. Buses are convenient that way. Well, not really.

* * *

_**"Sugar Me"**_

_"Genius is eternal patience." - Michelangelo_

* * *

_**Prologue**_

On the other side of those pricky wooden fences was a bus stop with a red and white sign on it that said, "_Please wait in line._" Because the leaves and dusty wind of autumn managed to take over the entire (how ever small) town, there was nothing but dust and leaves over and around the two cold seats of that bus stop. At 6:30pm there would be a bus arriving. Another would arrive about 15 minutes later. When the bus arrives, there would be a gush of wind. And then when the gush of wind soars through the bus stop glass station, you would shiver.

"...I had a bad day." I watched the boy mutter to himself. Or me. I wasn't certain which one of us he was talking to.

He appeared, everday, at exactly 6:19pm. He sat down at the edge of the bus stop seat, back straight, hands on his knees, and every day he sat there as if some one was watching him for mistakes in his posture. I was guessing, however, that at least a part of his mind understood that no one ever stalked him to the bus stop this late. Or he could just not care, because after a while, he would give up sitting upright, and slouch backward against the cold, vibrating glass that held the small bus stop together on all four sides.

"They don't understand what's at stake here. They are weak and they might be destroyed by others capable of it and wouldn't give it a second thought." he continued, frowning slightly, as if the ground between his shoes understood what he was talking about. His name, I never knew, must have been quite important, because he seemed to have quite a bunch of people working under his authority. I gathered that much, as we sat here everyday in this bus stop, and waited for the 6:30pm bus to come.

We went on our own seperate ways once the bus comes, wheezing and its wheels skipping to a rusty stop that disturbed the fluttering leaves on the ground before our feet. He liked to sit by the window behind the bus driver, and I liked to sit against the emergency escape route window. I had the emergency routine memorized. Just in case.

"But when they actually realize that they can't go up against their enemies on their own, they turn to me and say they trust me. If this is trust, I don't want it. They just use me when they need my powers." the boy continued to protest against thin air. Frustration and disappointment radiated off of him as he talked to the silent trees on the other side of the road. Or me. I was not very certain at times.

There were times when he didn't talk. In those times, I talked. And because I was the one talking, I knew that I talked to him not the trees. However, those times were less frequent, rare, I'd even say, and when I did talk to him as he sat in that same position as he did everyday, I talked quietly and a bit melancholy. I wondered if he thought I was boring?

"Do you think I would go insane and destroy all the people around me?"

I wondered if he was asking me or the air again. There was a pause, and then, to my slight disappointment and relief, he continued, "I guess they have the right to fear that. I do have a lot of things that point against me. But I made a promise. And someone taught me that a promise to protect precious people is important enough to continue to live. So I would never hurt my precious people. But I don't understand why my precious people still act like I am going to eat them." the boy stated.

Even in his frustration, his tone was a flat, cold line. He hardly changed his expression. The most frequent expression he had on his face, and this was not much, was confusion. Kids shouldn't live in confusion all the time like this. Nor should they be given a power or responsibility that effects other people's lives so profoundly.

"The bus is here." I commented, looking at the far approaching bus. The boy stilled, as if just realizing that he had been muttering his life problems to a stranger for the last twenty minutes, but then he snapped out of it and nodded silently. We stood up together, and walked to the edge of the leafy brick road simultaneously. The boy had blood red hair, and in the wind, I couldn't help but think that he looked like his head was on fire.

* * *

**_To be continued_**

* * *

**A/N:** The line format is working again. I think it's mocking me. Well, this must be quite the boring start for a fic, but really, I just want to write it. Because exams are coming in a few days and I rather write nothingness than the paper I'm supposed to be writting for the last few days. Gaara and Kakashi are two quiet people that are seldomly put together. I have a vague idea of why I want them together. I wrote a drabble before about them, and I think I'll post it if I manage to live through midterm papers and exams and projects. They are two of my favourite characters, but I'm not putting them together because of simply that. There's lots of things that I'd like to talk about them. Their not-so-obvious similarities, for instance. Ah, well, exams first. I think. I wish not but I think so. 


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Don't sue.  
**Summary:** Modern Fantasy AU. You never know, really, but you know, really. Kakashi x Gaara x Kakashi, YAOI.  
**Warning:** YAOI obviously, male on male if you need it spelled out for you, implied sexual content. Weirdness. Grammar mistakes.**  
Author's Notes:** I think this fic is doomed to have short chapters. I don't mind, personally. I also don't mind, personally, that tomorrow is the due day of 1 essay, 2 midterms, and 1 performance, and I haven't got anything written yet. Really. But again, not.

* * *

_**"Sugar Me"**_

_"Please don't ask me what the score is, I'm not even sure what the game is." - Ashleigh Brilliant _

* * *

_**Chapter 1  
**_

_I dreamt of myself flying a kite alone last night. The wind was laughing in my ear like it was mocking me._

_When we were children, we were taught how to fly a kite. There must be a large meadow. There must be a string. There must be money to buy or make a kite. There must be wind._ I told the boy this as I look at leaves flutter slowly around us. He did not realize that I was talking to him until he turned his tired, black rimmed sea-green eyes to mine. "The wind must be strong." I continued, acting like the bland passerby that I was, "And we must learn to run."

The boy maked no comments on this, but seemed to think about this inwardly. Maybe he was wondering why he always had to wait for the bus with a delusional adult. Maybe he was wondering what got me talking all of the sudden. Maybe he would deem me an old pervert and scoot away from me before his safety was breeched (_he didn't, but I'm saying it's a possible line of thought_).

"**What's a kite?**" the boy suddenly wondered out loud. I guessed there's my answer. What kid didn't know what a kite was?

I thought about the answer carefully, trying to make the explanation condense and precise. "It's a..." And that was when I realized that describing a kite as the concoction of six sticks and a diamond-shaped clothe on a string was never going to cover what a kite was. One had to fly it to know that kites were for flying. "I'll show one to you next time." I decided. He looked at me weirdly, perhaps wondering why anyone had to go that far when a sentence was sufficient for explanations. He didn't understand. _I sometimes don't understand myself either._

---For my daily routine was simple; I needed not to think too much beyond the Who, the When, the Where, and the How. I would take the bus uptown to the gas station nearest the beer factory museum. At one of the corners of the gas station there would be a mailbox, a dark blue one with chipped paint that looked like it was from the early 70s. I would check the side panel of the mailbox for any black marks as I walk pass the mailbox facing the museum straight ahead. And then it depends.

If there was a marking, it would have meant that I must carry out whatever assassination mission I was given inside a yellow envelope inside that mailbox. If nothing was on the mailbox, however, I would have walked right past it and went to work as a labour worker inside the factory for temporary cash. Assassinations payed quite well, (_much better than they did during the war time, in which too many people died so the price of one head was cheaper_) but making the extra bucks saved me from sitting at home with four blank walls to stare at all day.

I had a simple life, you see. It involved job, and no job. And while I contemplated on the simpleness of my dull life, the flame-hair boy who sat beside me turned to me again. "**The bus is here.**" he said, for we had been waiting for the 6:19pm bus together often enough (everyday together, in fact) to expect each other to announce it when one saw the bus. It was a rather pointless ritual, _but it felt a little comforting to know someone from a bus stop_.

I got up with the boy simultaneously, and each of us went for our daily routine. **_For when the bus came, none of us were dreaming anymore._**

Later that night, (_or the next early morning, really_) I killed a man.

He had brown eyes and a missing canin tooth on the right side of his lower role of teeth. I was given no information as to what he did or why he was to be killed. Although I found out that he had a family of five by the time I finished surveying the house he had been taking a nap in. So, although I killed a man today, the rest four _-- the wife, and her three daughters_, were also dead for confidenciality purposes stated in the agreement papers.

Vaguely I remembered that there was a movie playing on the television at 8am, and if I hurried and took the bus that came at 7:44am, I would make it in time. **(1)** I put down my black duffel bag and dropped off the completed mission proof papers at another nearby mailbox to inform the buyer that the target(s) had been eliminated. I then changed into a dark hoodie and put on a pair of jogging shoes that I had been carrying inside my duffel bag. I jogged past some other joggers and said _good morning_ to them as I continued my way toward the nearby bus stop.

This bus stop was alone at the intersection of two yellow, dusty country roads. The wind made swishing sounds at the back of my ears. It sounded like blades cutting into a carcass of some dead animal.

**_I wished, fleetingly, that that carcass was me._** **(2)**

* * *

**_To be continued_**

* * *

**(1)** - Not to be cliche, but as an assassin, Kakashi doesn't even _think_ about the fact that it was horrifying of him to have killed an entire family. Thus, naturally, his thought process moved onto the next task he had listed for the day, not unlike a robot. 

**(2)** - While Kakashi does not think about the horrors of his actions, it does not mean that he never had a guilty conscience in the first place. It was probably buried deep under his nearly nonexistant childhood memories. Deeply underneath.

**A/N:** This fic has incredibly boring start, I realise. It's when it gets to the middle part when things get blurry and heated up. I'm reminding myself to be patient until those chapters come. I can't let them progress too fast. After all, how fast do you warm up to a fellow bus rider?


End file.
